going nowhere
by empousai
Summary: An SPN rewrite in 11 random short parts. Dean didn't get Sam. John meets Sam now, but where's Dean? The rest is pretty much the same, only totally different. Warnings: slight SamDean, hurt!Dean


warning: wincest (sam/dean), hurt!dean

this was supposed to be something else - fun and gen and long and complicated, but became this because I ran out of time and it felt like beating a dead horse trying to change things around. I know it has no recognizable composition - part of why it's called "going nowhere". it feels like it's not done yet, but I'm not going to change that.

also, I hate editing on stories never look right, no matter how much you try and fix paragraphs and stuff.

**going**** nowhere**

It couldn't hurt, Sam had finally decided. And in a way, he had this responsibility – he knew there was a ghost haunting the old Meyer's place out in Rock Creek. He knew that just as he knew exactly how to get rid of the spirit. Years of training under his father and hunting these 'sons of bitches', as things of the paranormal realm were usually referred to in the Winchester family, had made sure of that. Plus, if he didn't go, people would get killed and he wouldn't - couldn't - stand for that. So much for his normal life, Sam grumbled when he placed the call to his friend, asking to borrow the car for a few hours.

So far, he had gathered that the vengeful spirit of Joseph Meyer had taken out three women resembling his wife who had poisoned him and gotten away with it. She died without ever paying for her crime, which seemed to have driven the ghost of Joseph Meyer to kill. The victims certainly looked poisoned with their blue tinged mouths and fingertips, which Sam could tell from the autopsy pictures he had 'acquired' through the friend of a friend. It was definitely a job that required his special knowledge and not the detective work the police were doing. He packed salt and some of the petroleum Jess used for her liquid candles – the white one, because it smelled of vanilla and he hated that one more than the rose one or the weird one that was supposed to smell like a tropical beach at sunset. He borrowed the shovel from the caretaker's tool shed in the basement and set out to find the grave of dear old Mr. Meyer.

The house was out of his way by half an hour. Sam had, to his dismay, found out that the guy had been buried in his own backyard instead of the local cemetery. Old family tradition, sure, but the graveyard would have only been ten minutes away and Sam still had homework to do.

He arrived at the gate and pulled over. He didn't think anyone still lived at the house, so seeing the GMC with Kansas plates parked in the underbrush outside came as a surprise to him. Quietly, the lighter and salt crammed into his jacket and the shovel held tightly, he went around the house, looking inside the windows for any sign of life. He was just rounding the corner to check out the garden when he was attacked. With a shovel. He blocked and deflected the garden tool with the long handle of his own and raised his fist to deliver a punch to the jaw to whoever was there. His fist was caught by the attacker's hand and the forceful blow was easily diverted to the attacker's side.

"Sam?"

"Dad?"

John looked around suspiciously before focusing on his son. "What are you doing here?"

"I… um-" Sam started, not really knowing what to say. Maybe that he wanted to employ a childhood's worth of knowledge to save women in distress?

"You're hunting," John answered his own question after a look at Sam's shovel. The sentence sounded accusatory. It was, Sam judged by looking at John's face.

"Just this once!" Sam defended.

"Did Dean send you here?" John asked. "He did, didn't he?"

"No. What are you talking about?" Sam was asking, just as a strong, cold gust of wind swept past them.

John looked around and they both realized at the same time that fighting on a hunt was probably not the smartest thing to do.

"Salt and burn first, fight later?" John offered and took the safety off his gun.

"Yeah," Sam agreed and took his shovel in both hands; ready to hold the spirit back if it came.

Nothing happened and they made their way over to the little circle of family graves in the back of the garden.

"Since you decided to hunt, you can dig him up," John said and stuck his shovel into the ground. "I'll ward Meyer off."

Sam wanted to argue, wanted to throw his shovel down and fight over it, but realized that if he did, the whole debacle would take even longer. He started digging, calming himself with the thought that soon he would be home with a beer and his homework and all of this would be over again.

Sam was digging, and John was watching the surroundings. "It's good to see you again."

"What?" Sam asked, looking up, taking a little break. He wiped sweat from his forehead, smearing dirt into his hair.

"You're looking good. All grown up," John replied, smiling down into the hole Sam was digging.

And oddly enough, Sam didn't have a smart reply to that. So he cracked a little smile and nodded. "You, too. Haven't seen you in a long time."

"Yeah." John seemed to go back to his silence then and Sam continued unearthing Joseph Meyer. After a while, John broke the quiet again. "I missed you."

And Sam just kept digging, trying to ignore his father's words. _Yeah, I missed you, too, but you threw me out, or had you forgotten?_ He wanted to say that, wanted to be angry at John for being so nice all of a sudden; and he deserved to be angry. Instead he threw the shovel down and pulled his sweatshirt off. He was sweating like a pig from all that digging.

When he finally encountered something other than dirt, he stomped down and promptly caught his food in the rotten boards of the casket.

"Found him," he sand, pulling his foot out. He punched the rest of the boards in with the shovel, laying the body bare. "Joseph Meyer, I hope."

"Yeah. You brought fuel and salt?" Realizing his mistake, John quickly amended. "Of course you did."

Sam pulled out the package of salt he had brought and made generous swipes over the body, dousing its remains. It wasn't like he had any use for the rest of the salt. Next, he pulled out the flask of petroleum and repeated the action, just as liberately.

"What the hell is that smell?" John asked after a moment and Sam realized his mistake belatedly.

"Vanilla," he mumbled.

"You've got to be-" John started, but stopped before finishing the sentence. His smarts didn't, however, keep him from muttering 'fucking vanilla' under his breath as Sam crawled out of the hole. He pulled out his motel room matchbook and struck the matches, all at once, before throwing the booklet into the grave.

"So, how's life treating you?" he wanted to know as he packed up his unused shovel.

"Good. Got a girlfriend, am done with pre-law."

John nodded. "Jessica, right? Dean told me about her."

"Yeah." Sam paused then, stunned. How would Dean know? He asked his father.

John looked at his son, surprised. "Well, I figure you guys talk about such things."

"Dad, I haven't talked to Dean in four years, ever since I came here," Sam said. There hadn't even been a phone call between the brothers, something Sam had started missing dearly – about a week into his isolation. He had, however, been too proud to pick up the phone and take the first step; they both had.

That was John's cue to frown. "Why? He tells me about what you do all the time."

The statement left Sam speechless. His brother knew about his life? "What?"

"Ever since the accident, he's been living in Palo Alto, to be closer to you," John replied, walking back to the car. "Surely he told you that?"

Sam gaped. "No. Not a word. What accident?" He didn't know what to think for a moment. Dean was in Palo Alto?

"Two years ago, Dean and I got close to the demon that killed your mother," John started. "We got into a car accident on the way back and it- I can't explain it very well. Some nerves were damaged and left him with a weak left side." He stopped there, looking at his son. "He can't hunt anymore."

"And he came here and didn't tell me." The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. An accident? His family could have died and he wouldn't have known. With no way to contact Sam and their legal identities being as good as untraceable, there would have been no way for Sam to know. His throat constricted and he opened his mouth in a desperate attempt to dislodge the feeling of panic.

John nodded. "Looks like. He's working at a garage and does some small stuff for hunters all across. I raised two really sharp kids."

Sam watched his father, saw the pride in the man's eyes. It made him angry, too, because that pride was new. It was something he had hardly ever gotten to see in those eyes when he was younger, when he would have needed it.

"He's avoided talking to me for four years. He's been following me to tell you about my life. He's sent me money, if that was really him. And he hasn't had the gall to come and see me in person?" Sam asked.

"You know how Dean is," John said, trying to soothe his son.

"Doesn't look like it," Sam replied. "The brother I know would've come to bug the hell out of me. Would've stuck around and…" _The Dean I know would've come to me._

John smirked. Yes, that did sound like Dean. He raised his hand. "Listen, I don't know why he hasn't contacted you." He had a pretty good idea, though. It was likely that Dean had gotten scared, afraid that Sam wouldn't want him in this new life he had made for himself. But it wasn't his responsibility to tell Sam that. He looked at his son closer. He really looked good. Four years on his own had made Sam independent, grown up in a way he hadn't been before. "But I gotta tell you, I'm glad to see you."

"Me, too. I missed you guys." There, he'd said it. The one thing he had tried to deny for so long. "Sometimes wondered where you'd be, what you'd be doing."

"We went our separate ways after you'd left," John admitted. "Neither of us could deal well with it, so we simply didn't. We met up sometimes to do a job together. Dean built up some kind of network for himself."

"Dean, networking?"

"Don't mock it, it's become useful," John replied, smiling. He had thought the same thing at first; until Ash had located the demon for them. He started walking, going back to the car, waiting for Sam to follow before he continued. "We found the demon, but it possessed me. We… made it out alive, but so did the demon. On the way back, we got rammed by a truck. I was driving and Dean was on the side where the truck hit." He stopped, opened the trunk of his GMC and threw the shovel in. As much as he wanted Sam to know what had happened, he couldn't talk about it.

Sam said it for him. "Dean got hurt."

"Yeah. We made it out alive is what counts. Dean took it pretty well." John didn't need to say that he hadn't. Or that he had been surprised by the ease with which Dean had taken this sudden weakness. Hemiparesis, who had ever heard of that. The first month, Dean hadn't been able to hold a cup of water, much less a gun. John had raved and ranted, wanting everything back to normal, but in the end even he had to admit defeat.

"I want to see him," Sam said.

John watched Sam clean the shovel half-heartedly before stowing it away in the backseat of the dinky little vehicle he was driving. John hoped it wasn't Sam's, for he would have had to be ashamed if one of his sons drove a car like that.

"Tonight?" he asked, less than pleased. It was late, and he hadn't gotten any sleep before coming here.

"Tomorrow," Sam replied. "You know where I live?"

"Yeah," John said. "I'll pick you up at six."

As he went inside his apartment building, Sam turned around again. What if Dean had seen this – Sam's apartment, his friends, Jess – and had left again, thinking there wasn't going to be a place for him in it? It would have been like Dean. Opting out before even trying to repair what they'd had.

* * *

As soon as Dean entered his apartment, John stood up. It was a signal for Sam, who had decided to hang back for a while. He waited in the kitchen while John went to meet Dean. They wanted to surprise him, not confront him with his lie like a two man wall. 

"Hello, Dean."

"Dad. What are you doing here?" Dean asked, closing the door behind him. He pulled his jacket off and went to greet John. He didn't hide his excitement over having his father visit.

John noted that Dean had regained even more movement, or at least smoother movement. His limp seemed less pronounced than it had been the last time he had visited.

"You should've said something," Dean said. "I could've taken the day off."

"Come here," John just said and hugged his oldest. He winced then, feeling the difference. Dean was slimming down now that he couldn't exercise the way he used to, and his hug was weak on one side - too weak to go hunting, but not weak enough for his son not to make a decent living in Palo Alto. Dean looked healthy.

"How've you been?" he asked, grasping Dean's shoulder for good measure, unwilling to let go already.

"Good," Dean said. "Work's going well, surprisingly."

John smirked. "I never doubted that it would. I raised two smart kids."

"You did. Even though we couldn't follow your footsteps the way you wanted us to."

There it was - that apologetic shrug John knew would come up at least once during his visit. Dean still hadn't forgiven himself for getting injured. "Dean, don't," he tried to calm his son down, but Dean deflected.

"I know," Dean replied, stepping back from the argument. "Business is almost flourishing, considering the size of our community."

"That's good to hear," John said, pride in his voice. "Dean. Want to tell me something? About Sam?"

"Hm? Sam's doing good, as always," Dean said, clearly uncomfortable with the question.

He had been a fool, John realized. "I know," he said and shot Dean a sharp look.

"You do?" Dean asked and froze when he saw his father's look. "You do."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" John asked, more desperate at his son's attitude than angry at his lies.

"Because I couldn't do it. Couldn't ruin his life again."

Sam frowned at that. He had meant to wait till Dean confessed, but this development made him curious. Curious and sad, because he could guess where this was leading to.

"He's happy, Dad, don't you see?" Dean continued. "He's free from us, finally. No crazy family to…" he broke off there, desperate to make his father see, but unable to continue.

"To what?" John asked.

Dean was insistent. "I did the right thing by staying out of his life."

Sam shook his head. Enough was enough, he decided and broke into the stand-off between father and son. "No, you didn't," he said.

Dean jerked around. "Sam?"

"You idiot," Sam responded and closed the distance between them, enveloping his big brother in a tight hug. "You idiot," He repeated and smiled. "I missed you." He wanted to admonish Dean, wanted to tell him that he should have called, but at the same time he wondered how he would have reacted. Would he have been happy to hear from his brother? He didn't know.

"You're looking good, Sammy," Dean said and Sam sniffled. Pathetic, really. At the same time, he noticed just how different Dean looked from how he had left him four years ago. His big brother felt different, slimmer. It was strange to touch Dean again after such a long time apart. He didn't want to let go.

"You, too," he replied and pressed Dean's body closer. He smiled at John over Dean's shoulder. They had never told their father – there was no reason to let him know now. He squeezed Dean a last time before reluctantly letting go again. "So you're living a normal life now, too?"

"Yeah. But unlike you, I already knew what a potato peeler was for," Dean retorted. His hand lingered on Sam's jacket.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

And for a moment, it felt like they had never been apart.

* * *

John was content, knowing that Sam and Dean were together again and happy. Sam introduced them to Jess at dinner one evening, and despite the awkwardness of having to hide their 'business' from the girl, they had a great evening. 

He had done his best to get them back together, facing in the right direction; the same direction. Whereas Sam was uncomfortable with his family and Jess at the same table, Dean had done his best to accommodate her. There was a palpable strain in the air between them, and Jess felt it.

John wondered if she suspected. He had never said anything to his boys – had known and kept quiet, thinking the tight bond between them would only serve to keep them together.

John loved his sons, knew there was nothing more he could do. For the first time, he felt secure in leaving them alone. It was time to go for the big hunt.

* * *

A few weeks later found Dean in Sam's apartment, waiting for his brother's return from school. 

"No, thanks, I'm okay, really," he said when Jess asked again if he wanted something to drink.

She returned from the kitchen with a glass of water anyway. "It feels weird to have a guest that doesn't immediately head for the fridge."

Dean grinned. "Hey, I was raised with manners, lady," he defended himself.

He liked Jess. She seemed to make Sam happy, and that was all that was important to him. He had known that he had no right barging back into Sam's life in that first moment he'd seen Sam and Jess walking home from campus. What they'd had was over – and it was probably better that way.

"You nervous or something?" Jess asked with a sly smile. "Don't tell me you finished the car."

He had told them about the work he was on the wrecked Impala and now Jess asked every time how it was going. If she hadn't been so sweet and interested about it, he would have called her annoying.

"No, unfortunately not," Dean denied. "Just family business I need to talk to Sam about."

They both heard the key turning in the lock then and Jess got up to greet her boyfriend.

"Speaking of the devil," Dean said loudly. "Jess, quickly put your shirt back on!"

Jess just waved him off and kissed Sam hello. "Your brother is an idiot."

"I know," Dean and Sam replied almost at the same time.

"She meant you, jerk," Sam said. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

And then it was time to get serious. "It's about Dad. He's missing."

"So?"

"He's on a hunting trip," Dean said with emphasis. "And he hasn't called in a few weeks."

"Jess, could you excuse us for a moment?" Sam asked then, kissing her cheek in apology.

"Sure."

When Jess had gone to the bedroom and the door was closed, Sam sat down across from Dean. "He didn't call me, either. Not that I would've expected him to." He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know. But don't you think it's weird that Dad comes here, gets us to meet and everything and then leaves and doesn't call in when he's supposed to?"

"So you think something happened. Something big," Sam said.

Dean sighed and brushed a hand over his face. "Yeah. Maybe. I don't know."

"What do you want to do?"

"I thought, I'd ask around first and then, if nothing turns up, follow his trail and see what happened."

"You want to go after him?" Sam asked, looking at Dean's bad side without meaning to. Dean caught the look anyway.

"Yes. I'm not an invalid, you know?"

Sam nodded. He had never lost confidence in his brother, and if Dean thought he could hunt, Sam believed him.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe it won't come to that, anyway. I just wanted to tell you and make sure he didn't call you either."

"He didn't. Thanks for telling me."

Dean nodded, getting up. "I'll tell you when I find out what happened."

They made their way to the door, but before Dean could open it, Sam turned him back and said, "Keep in touch. And tell me before you leave. If it's a weekend, I'll come with."

"Seriously?"

Sam frowned. "Of course. He's my Dad, too."

"Yeah," Dean replied, not knowing what else to say. "Bye, Sammy." Then he raised his voice and yelled a goodbye to Jess.

Sam pressed his lips together and smiled. "See you, Deano."

Dean snorted at the childish return of the nickname. "My prerogative, little brother." He shook his head and headed downstairs.

Sam, not allowing Dean the last word, leaned over the railing in the staircase and yelled down, "Who're you calling 'little', shorty?" Then he yanked himself back and slammed the door shut before Dean could get a last word in.

Still, the worry gnawed on him. What had happened to their father?

* * *

Sam flipped the phone open. "Dean?" 

"Hey. Listen, I didn't find any trace of Dad through the network, so I'll go to Jericho this weekend and look for him. Still want to come with?"

Sam nodded. He wouldn't let Dean go on that hunt alone – not if the spirit in question had already taken an experienced hunter like John out. "Yeah. I've got an interview on Monday, though, so we'd need to be back by then."

"Don't worry. If we leave tomorrow, we should be back by Sunday night."

"Do you have a car that works?" Sam asked. He knew that Dean was repairing the Impala, but the car was still a long way from being finished.

Dean cleared his throat. "I got one from Bobby. A friend is bringing it down tomorrow."

"You're calling the car an 'it'?" Sam asked, smirking. "Must be sub par, then."

"You have no idea. It's totally embarrassing," Dean complained.

"If it'll get us there and back, I've got no complaints."

"Tell me that again on Friday."

Sam laughed. He heard someone yell his brother's name in the background. "You in hot demand?"

"Yeah. Those grease monkeys can never get enough of Dean Winchester," Dean replied, and a moment later yelled 'you too' to someone who had obviously told him off. "I better go. See you tomorrow?"

"Yep. I'll be by around three, okay?" Sam said. Hearing Dean so happy and carefree still sent a twinge through his chest. When they had grown up, Dean had had too many responsibilities to feel 'free' of anything. It didn't matter. At least he had it now. _And Dad just had to go and fuck that up again, didn't he?_

"Three is good. See you then," Sam replied and switched his phone off after hearing Dean's goodbye.

"You're hurt," Sam said.

* * *

"Yeah," Dean admitted. Being strung up in that Wendigo's cave had played havoc on his system. He could barely sit without pain. "Give me two from the orange bottle." 

Sam rummaged around the glove department and found it. He read the label and pulled a face. "Two?"

Dean nodded and Sam shook them out. He offered Dean a bottle of water he'd found in the glove department as well - half full, probably a couple of days stale already.

When Dean had swallowed the pills, Sam got a closer look at his brother. Dean was squeezed into the car seat, looking like he was having a full-body cramp. His head was pressed against the glass, the rest of him contorted.

"I don't know what to do," he said then and rested a hand on his brother's forehead. It was sweaty.

"A bed. I need to stretch out. Take muscle relaxants."

Dean was taking deep breaths between his words. Sam reasoned it was taking Dean some concentration not to throw up.

"Okay. Give me half an hour to find something."

Dean just nodded and squeezed his eyes shut. There wasn't much more he could do. His arm was shaking uncontrollably.

Sam drove as fast as he could without alerting anyone. He checked on his brother again, making sure Dean didn't need to stop. He found a motel soon enough, and by the time Sam pulled in close to the reception, Dean seemed a little better. The pills were doing their job. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed.

"I'll be right back. Just wait here, okay?" He doubted Dean would have gone anywhere in this condition, but he had to make sure. He knew his brother too well. Didn't trust him not to try and get out by himself.

A bell above the door announced him and a moment later, the motel owner came out to greet him.

Sam offered him an apologetic smile for being so late. "A room for the night. Two queens. On the ground floor, please."

"Late night, huh?"

Sam just nodded and gave the man an affirmative hum. He didn't feel like making small talk. The man signed him in quickly enough and Sam took the key. Finally.

Dean was where Sam had left him. He got back into the car and drove them over to the room the manager had given him the key to. There, he opened the door and carried their bags in before trying to give Dean a hand.

He opened the passenger door and crouched down, trying to gauge whether Dean would need a fireman carry inside.

"How're you doing?"

Dean smirked. "Better. Help me up. I can get the rest myself."

"Kay," Sam replied and wrapped his arms around Dean. Dean smelled of damp earth and pain. He grunted as he was lifted and Sam tightened his hold. "Want me to-" He left the rest unsaid.

"No. Just let me lean on you."

Sam smiled. "Always."

Together, they made their way into the room – shuffling step by shuffling step. Inside, Dean went for the bed closer to the wall, leaving the one closer to the door to Sam. It was his watch tonight, Sam understood.

He pulled the comforter off while Dean laid down. He stretched out on his stomach and sighed. "This feels so good."

Sam laughed. "Just wait until I'm done with you, then." The look on Dean's face that answered him was priceless. "Not like that. I'm giving you a massage."

"You know how to do that?"

Sam shrugged. "You'll see, won't you?"

"Yeah."

Sam locked up the car and the motel room before crawling on top of Dean, seating himself on his brother's thighs. Any other time, he would have taken advantage of this situation. Would have asserted his rights to his brother's body and made sure Dean knew who he belonged to. Or he would have stuck his cold toes against Dean's calves. Either one was impossible tonight.

He cracked his knuckles, rubbing his hands together to warm them up. "So, what does your doc do when it gets this bad?"

Dean hesitated with answering before he finally admitted, "This never happened at home. I used to go to therapy once a week and everything was peachy."

"All right," Sam said, shrugging. He would have to learn what helped by doing, then. Simple as that, really.

When Dean had closed his eyes, Sam bent over to get at Dean's bag. "I'm gonna use gun oil if you don't have anything else."

"I don't." He chuckled then and mumbled, "Use lube."

"Dad never told me what happened," Sam pried. He spread some of the oil in his hands and rubbed them together, heating the oil up as well as he could.

"I won't, either," Dean replied.

"Dean," Sam said, unwilling to give up so early. He had his brother pliant under him. A little massage could go a long way in making him talk.

Dean seemed to notice that, too. "Sam, no. It... I don't even remember all of it. I just know that we had the demon trapped but it escaped. And we got hit by a Mack truck. That's what Dad told me."

Digging into Dean's shoulder, eliciting a happy moan from his brother, he continued to push. "You don't know for sure?"

"The truck hit the Impala on my side. Basically, I came out brain damaged from the accident. I'm just happy that the only noticeable damage I kept from it is a weaker side. It could've been a lot worse."

Sam hung his head, pausing the massage. "I'm sorry."

"What're you sorry for? I've gotten used to it."

It was like Dean to brush his brother off like that, but Sam shook his head. This would be between them until he said it out loud. "Sorry for bringing it up. And for not being there."

Dean groaned into the pillow before turning it to the side. "Don't do this, Sammy. It wasn't your fault. Could happen any time. I could slip in the shower and hit my head."

Sam chuckled, resuming his long strokes. "Okay."

"You know, this feels really good," Dean said then, flexing his shoulder muscles.

"There's oil that heats up when you rub it in, you know? We could get some of that," Sam offered.

"I don't plan on making this a regular thing," Dean warned him.

"Well, if you keep pushing, then it will become one."

Dean went quiet.

Sam continued. "This is why you didn't go back to hunting after the accident. Why you came to Palo Alto and started hunting behind a computer."

"Yeah, but we need to find Dad. He's out there somewhere."

"Will you go back to a normal life when we've found him?"

"Normal. You don't have normal anymore, either. What will you do?"

"I..." and for the first time in the past few months, Sam stopped to think about his future. Jess was dead. And with her, it seemed, his whole future had gone up in flames. His dream of a normal life was gone. All he had left in life was his brother. And he would be damned if he let him out of his sight again. "I could hunt from Palo Alto. You've built up a network – just tell the others to send the California jobs my way. That way I can continue with my studies."

"Huh."

"That all you're saying?" Sam asked, surprised.

"It just seems weird. Who would have thought I'd be the stay-at-home wife while my little brother goes out to hunt evil?"

Sam snorted and wiped his hands on the sheets on Dean's bed. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked as he crawled off the bed to go to the bathroom.

"Nothing, Sammy. Thanks for that," he said and put a hand on his weak shoulder. "Almost doesn't hurt anymore."

"Good. Next time, tell me earlier." After washing his hands, Sam returned and found his brother drifting off to sleep.

He lay down on his own bed, stretching his long legs until the ankles hung over the edge of the bed. He crossed his arms behind his head, resting it in his hands. He looked over and whispered, "Dean?"

Dean answered with a faint mumble. "Hmm?"

"You didn't answer my question earlier. What will you do when we've found him?"

"I miss hunting," Dean admitted, cracking an eye open. "But it's nice to have a steady job and an apartment to go home to, too, you know?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "I want us to go back to that, Dean. Both of us. Together."

"That'd be nice."

Sam smiled. Yeah, it would be nice indeed.

* * *

After that, Sam was more careful. He tried to be subtle about looking out for Dean. He did his best to make sure that Dean didn't overdo it. That one night had scared him and had gone great lengths to show him just what his brother had lost. 

Dean was thinner now, had lost muscle mass and was an easier target. Sam didn't doubt that, if determined, Dean could take anything and anyone – especially to protect his little brother – but he didn't see the necessity of it.

He wanted to go back to a normal life and knew that Dean wanted that, too. They couldn't, not just yet. They needed to find John, needed to find out what had happened and why he had given them the journal. They certainly hadn't wanted it.

The first few months of them getting back on the road together, it was easy; the living together and in each other's pocket, the stale coffee and cheap fast food. Taking breaks at gas stations and moving from town to town to find jobs. It got easier with time, but it also took its toll on them. Dean looked pale and took muscle relaxants to keep up with the job. Sam's legs cramped easier from sitting in the car for long hours.

They re-learned being together and got used to each other's weaknesses. Sam learned to accommodate for Dean's weak side and did his best not to draw attention to the ways he helped Dean out. Dean, on the other hand, did his best to bring Sam up to an acceptable standard again, especially with gun procedure.

They became that old, well-oiled machine again.

It didn't take long for them to want the rest back, too. Sam hadn't forgotten Jess, but had long ago learned that no one would ever know him as well as Dean. No one would ever 'get' him like his brother did.

* * *

"Dean, wake up!" Sam said loudly, shining a flashlight in his brother's face from a safe distance. They had learned early not to wake a soldier by touch. 

After another slow moan, Dean finally opened his eyes, swiping the knife from his pillow. He was still caught in whatever night terror had had him in its grasp. He blinked against the glare of the flashlight and winced. "Yeah?"

"You had a nightmare."

Dean wiped a hand over his sweaty face. "Looks like."

"You often get those?" Sam asked.

"Sometimes. I dream I can't walk fast enough, you know? Or that I'm on a hunt and I have no weapon. Stuff like that."

"Did you always have those?" Sam didn't remember his brother ever sleeping bad when they had been kids.

"Not about not being able to run – I had no reason to," Dean said, a wry smirk on his lips. "But then I couldn't walk for some time after the accident – had a cane for even longer after that."

"Do you still need one?" They hadn't talked about Dean's disability. Sam didn't want to pry and Dean didn't talk about it. Since that one scare they'd had, Sam had tried to get more information, but hadn't gotten very far.

"I can't really use one because usually it's just all over. You know how it was the last time."

Sam nodded, trying to understand. He had tried to research Dean's disability, but there were so many different ways this weakness could go, that he simply hadn't been able to fit one to Dean.

"Does it always get like that?"

Dean shrugged. "Not since the very beginning. I've got a cane, just in case only the leg is affected. A telescope cane. It's in the trunk."

Sam frowned. It came together slowly. Dean had never hurt like that, not since the accident. Because he had done what the doctors had told him – nothing strenuous, a normal job and an apartment. Running and shooting and getting smashed against walls – far from what Dean's body needed. "You really shouldn't be hunting, right?"

Dean winced. "No. But we've got to find Dad."

"Is this getting worse?"

Dean stayed silent at that. No answer from Dean was as good as a confirmation.

"Dean. Can this get worse?"

Dean turned on him. "I don't know, okay? I never asked, really. Only accepted that I would lead a civilian life and left it at that."

"We're going to find out," Sam decided.

* * *

"Gotcha," Dean grinned when the EMF meter gave them a warning signal. He reloaded his shotgun before he turned and asked his brother, "You about ready?" 

Sam's answer was a single nod. He, too, checked his gun and followed Dean down the stairs to the cellar. He stopped when Dean gave him a hand signal.

Suddenly, the shelves along the wall started to rattle.

"I didn't know this was a poltergeist," Sam said, worrying. Were they even equipped to deal with one?

"It's not, idiot. That's the train coming through," Dean replied.

Sam let out a startled laugh. That was embarrassing. Four years away from the job and he got spooked by a noise and a little rattling. "I'm not quite there yet, am I?" Sam asked, relaxing a fraction. He covered his brother as they were going through the room. Nothing yet.

"Nope," Dean said, amusement in his voice. "But you will be. Give me another month and you'll work like you used to."

Comforting, Sam thought. Not exactly what he had imagined himself to look forward to a couple of months back. And not what he imagined for him to look forward to, now, either. He still hoped that this would be over soon.

The ghost appeared suddenly and fiercely angry. The EMF meter in Dean's pocket squeaked just as the air crackled with electromagnetic energy. Dean sighted on the ghost and Sam followed quickly.

"It's Marie Louise, that's for sure," Sam stated.

"Yep. She's got to be here somewhere."

The ghost came toward them and Dean shot her with the salt gun. The white mist vanished to their right and Sam quickly followed it with the end of his gun. They needed to know where she was going when she disappeared – her human remains were her comfort zone. Dean lit the flashlight into that corner and pulled the EMF meter out to read the wall and floor.

Sam followed. "So the owner killed and buried her in the cellar. I wonder why no one ever found her. I mean, they must have looked, right?" People not doing their jobs right forced them into the picture.

Dean shrugged. "Not if he did a good job."

Sam doubted that killing someone and hiding their body well constituted as a 'good' anything.

"Check the floor," he said then. The wall looked like pretty solid stone, not at all like parts of the brick had been cut out and put back in to bury a corpse.

Dean was already on his way there, having covered all of the wall first. "I think we've hit the jackpot," he said when the reader started squealing.

Sam went in search of a shovel, leaving Dean to map the rest of the floor to make sure the owner hadn't done his dirty deed again. When Sam returned, Dean was sitting against the wall, massaging his right shoulder.

"Bad?"

"S'okay. Just a little sore."

"You should try a pistol instead of the shotgun. It's too heavy," Sam said. It felt like they'd had this argument a hundred times already.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm not an invalid." Even Dean's reply felt like it was rehearsed.

"I'm not saying you are, Dean. You just don't know when to give in." Sam said, exasperated. Ever since they had started on this road trip to find their missing father, Dean had been pushing himself further and further while his body protested loudly. Sam was sick of hearing Dean twist and turn at night, quietly complaining about this prison his body had become.

Dean deflected Sam's plea. "I know, and I'm trying."

"You're not. I want you to take it easy, or we're going back to Palo Alto and be done with this thing." He dug the shovel in and widened the hole.

Dean shook his head. "You can't do that."

Sam just cocked an eyebrow. "Maybe not, but at the rate you're going, your body's gonna do that for me sooner or later anyway."

"I'll try better. Will that do?" Dean asked dejectedly.

"You do that. And maybe then you can sleep the night through without having to walk a cramp out or pop a painkiller at three in the morning."

Finally, he hit something soft, wincing when he realized what it was. The body was wrapped in cloth, and he only peeled the cover back in the middle to confirm that it was actually Marie Louise. The pieces of her dress that hadn't rotted yet, had the distinct flower pattern that was described on her Missing Persons report. "It's her all right."

"All right. Let's torch this sucker."

Sam nodded and dug around the body, shaping out its contours to make sure they wouldn't miss any bones. Then he took the offered salt form Dean and spread it liberally over the form. Dean squirted lighter fluid over the body from where he was sitting and Sam struck a match to light the body on fire.

Dean struggled to get up and, for once, accepted it when Sam offered a helping hand.

"That should do it," Dean said, looking around.

"Yeah. Let's get out of here before someone discovers the smoke."

It took them a bit longer to get back up the stairs than it had taken down, but in the end, with Dean leaning heavily on his brother, they made their way to the car.

* * *

Sam cursed this job. They needed to stop. There was nothing he could do to make it easier for Dean. They would still have to run sometimes. And even if he did all the digging and shooting, violent spirits weren't exactly keen on being sent back. There was always the chance of Dean getting hit. 

After the last bad case of muscle cramps, Sam had called Dean's doctor in Palo Alto and gotten the confirmation that Dean really wasn't supposed to be doing what he was doing. Dean was still sore about not being allowed to drive anymore. Sam was adamant about doing at least some things the doctor had ordered, so he had taken over the wheel, leaving Dean feeling like someone had shot him in the leg.

In the motel they had found for the night, Dean was lying in bed, looking at the ceiling. Socks and shoes lay discarded at the foot of the bed and Dean was clenching and stretching his toes.

"Sam?"

"What is it?" Sam asked, ready to bring Dean whatever he needed.

"I'm horny."

_- I'm taking out the NC-17 scene here. Sorry to those who wanted to see some action. -  
_

Dean nodded and propped himself up on his elbows. "I need to stretch."

Sam nodded and took Dean's leg, stretching it out to keep it from cramping. "Do you need a relaxant?"

Dean snorted. "I'm as relaxed as I could be." He wagged his feet as if to prove it. "Good sex usually has that effect on me," he added.

Sam grabbed the foot and rubbed his thumb over the bottom, massaging it. Dean looked happy.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Hm?" Dean looked up.

"Remember when you told me you wanted to go back to a steady life?"

Dean nodded. "You're gonna make me promise, now that I'm all pliant?"

"Something like that," Sam admitted. "Is it working?"

"As soon as we've killed the demon."

Sam looked at Dean – really looked – and found the promise he had been looking for in Dean's honest expression. "Okay," he said.

They would meet up with John. They would kill the demon together. And this insanity would end.

* * *

The showdown was over quicker than anyone would have thought. The fleeing demons and spirits had wreaked havoc on the little graveyard. But then it was quiet again – no roaring, no flames, no screams. Just the four of them. 

The demon was dead. Just like that, Dean had shot it and freed them all. Dad's spirit left like a mist - called to a better place, Sam hoped.

Sam's breath hitched in his throat and he ran over to where Dean was leaning against the headstone.

"Dean!" he yelled, watching as Dean sank a little further, his weaker arm not doing a good job at propping his body up.

"I'm good, Sam."

"The hell you are," Sam argued and knelt down behind Dean, pulling his brother's body up to lean against his. He brushed Dean's sweaty hair back and pressed a kiss to his brother's head. Then, still not quite believing what had just happened, he said, "You did it."

"Yeah." Dean let himself fall back into Sam's chest and grinned up at him. "Did you make sure?"

Sam nodded. He cast another glance at the janitor's possessed body. "It's dead and gone, Dean."

"We can go home now."

Bobby walked up to them now, nodding at them. "That the son of a bitch?"

"Yeah," Sam replied with a weak smile. "We did it."

"Only took us twenty-four years, too."

"Good things need time to be done right."

"What do I hear about you guys going home?"

Sam tightened his grip around Dean's chest and shook his head. "No more, Bobby. We've done enough."

"True. You've given enough."

Dean raised his hand. "We won't stop hunting all together, but not the way we used to."

Bobby nodded. He understood, having seen the Winchester boys fight at a way too young age. "Your dad would give you hell for pushing yourself like that."

"Probably," Dean replied with a casual shrug. The movement made him wince. "Yeah, he would have."

Sam agreed wholeheartedly. He motioned for Bobby to come over and help him get Dean into the car. "Which is why we're leaving. Start a life somewhere and be done with the motels."

Bobby stepped up and shouldered his way under Dean's arm. Sam took his other side, but only to steady them as they walked back to the car. Being taller than Dean, there was no other way he could help.

They passed Ellen, who was collecting the weapons they had discarded. She walked back with them, taking one last look around to check on the graveyard. "We'll have to rebuild the railway lines soon," she said.

Bobby agreed. "We'll need to tap into the network and get some help over here. In the meantime, we'll lay salt lines around the church."

"Do you need help with that?" Sam asked. On the one hand, he didn't want to leave them hanging like that, but on the other hand, Dean needed to be looked over.

"Nah," Bobby said.

Sam didn't miss Ellen's look. She didn't know yet. And somehow, Sam wasn't keen on telling her. He waited until Dean was seated in the car, before telling her.

"We're done, Ellen," he said with a shrug. "We got the demon, that's all we wanted. We found Dad."

"You're giving up the hunt?" she asked, shock written in her face.

"Kinda. Look at Dean, man. He can barely stand. I swore I was done six years ago. We've been hunting all our lives. Don't you think it's time we had a break?"

She couldn't say no to that and Sam saw it in her eyes. "We'll find hunts and take some of them. We'll always be there if someone really needs help – you know that. We're not turning anyone away. But..."

"No, Sam," Ellen said, and stepped closer. "You don't have to explain." She wrapped him up in a hug and patted his back when he returned it. "Just promise you'll keep in touch, okay?"

They let go then and shook hands. Sam smiled at her. "We will. You, too. Do you know where you're going?"

Ellen shook her head. "Not yet. I'll hook up with Bobby for a while and go looking for Jo. There's some things that have been left unsaid between us. I think it's time we talked things through."

"You do that. You and Bobby, you two stay safe, all right?" Sam said, looking at the two people in front of him. "We'll call as soon as we know where we're going."

"Lawrence?"

Casting a quick look at Dean, remembering his brother's aversion to their childhood home, Sam said, "No. I don't think we're ever going back there. Why?"

Bobby laughed. "It's pretty central." He got it, though, and didn't press any further. "Drive safely."

"Always," Sam replied and rounded the car. He got into the driver's seat and buckled up, making sure Dean was belted in as well. "Ready?" he asked before twisting the key in the ignition.

"Yeah. Ready to find home."

* * *


End file.
